An Angel's Lost Soul
by Neodymium60
Summary: As Draco Malfoy tries to restore his family name back to its former glory, there is a new prophecy that announces the rise of another Dark Lord. / "In my dreams, I walk along a narrow, dusty path. Erratic, I go on, never resting – for this journey has no end, for Death only is my harbour. Then, I wake up in a nightmare of my own creation."


No copy infringement intended: All rights belong to J. K. Rowling.

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 _I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it..._

– Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 17

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 ** _I carry the pain of the world in my heart. I shall return it a thousand times over._**

 **φ**

A cloudless sky watched over the city of aligned, grey houses while the sun shone with all its radiant splendor, splashing its light on the Thames River. A quiet breeze caused the branches to dance to the rhythm of the leaves swaying on the waves. It was a perpetual dance, rhythmic with the mute cry of life, which has been everlasting since the dawn of time.

The air was warm and soft on that day, as the Muggles were all immersed in a sleepless dream. That was not surprising. The city itself had something dreamy, almost magical in its early summer days. It was one of those days that the Muggles quickly get used to, but soon forget and take for granted the ever so ephemeral peace resonating in the clouds.

It was the placid calm waiting her beloved, the dreadful storm.

Suddenly, a torrential rain started to fall and flashes of lightning filled the sky above. The echo of a terrible drumfire made the air vibrate with loud cries. Even the sun seemed to have disappeared, hidden behind the anthracite clouds that covered the grey dome. Black, snake-like clouds, veiling an unspeakable malice. A wickedness lingering in the shadows.

Death Eaters.

How many have died in the First Wizarding War? How many lives, innocently taken? It seemed that everywhere the servants of the Dark Side go, only grief and misery remain. With every wave of attack, only the defeated are left to weep, before they are erased from history, too.

The terror alone is real, and with it, unspeakable names and deathless torment.

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 ** _There is only fear…and those too weak to use it._**

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In the midst of the chaos, a dark silhouette, wrapped in a forest green cloak, was walking in the alleys. A boy, with white-blond hair. A boy, behind a silver mask, his hands wrapped around a wand made of hawthorn wood and a single unicorn hair core.

He heard a loud scream was emitted from one of the grey houses, followed by many others, yet none of those causing a tremor in his unyielding, implacable soul. His heart had become a tomb that remained cold and unmoving despite the cries and tears that washed its bedrock.

A final wail resonated in the house, and a flash of blinding green light emanated from the windows, with a sound that split the air. The boy heard a hysterical laugh – of a woman – and he closed his eyes. The victim has stopped begging for mercy, as if mercy was a language known by the Death Eaters, and there was silence, at last.

" _Morsmordre_ ," he howled, his wand pointing towards the wild, howling sky.

The Dark Mark appeared above the house, its light glowing like the resplendence of some avenging angel. It was the Mark of fear.

Truthfully, he was no longer a boy. Draco Malfoy has received the Mark for his eighteenth birthday. His father was beaming with joy and pride on that day, a day that would later determine the turn of a war.

"Draco, it's done," murmured a grave voice behind him, "Let's go home." It was father who Appeared next to him.

 _I will not be like him,_ Draco thought. _I will not be like my father._

After a last look towards the sky, where the Dark Mark was hovering amid the air, bright as crystal, and Draco marched forward, plunging himself further into the abyss.

The winds were travelling wildly between the trees, while an icy air would freeze any bystander's blood. Green lights fell and lives evaporated. It seemed as if the whole universe was torn by a furious spirit pulsating like a beating heart.

"My son, it is time," reminded the voice.

Lucius possessively put a hand on his son's shoulder. His grip as firm and weighted heavy next to Draco's neck. Together, they seemed like two shadows becoming one terrible, foul creature of fear, as terrible as a Dementor.

Draco smiled. _A terrible storm indeed_ , he thought, for the Death Eaters speak only one language.

Death.

And with his father, they Disapparated in the silence of the night.

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 ** _There is only darkness…and those too weak to embrace it._**

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As cycles are ever so recurrent, years have passed and time has flowed. The first war was won. The Second, too.

Men have risen and men have fallen. History, in all its incomprehensible mysteries, has elected its hero. The Chosen One, destined to bring down an immortal Lord.

The Boy Who Lived, bringing down yet again his sworn enemy.

After the Battle of Hogwarts was won, life went on as good triumphed over evil. Yet, everything seemed surreal. Life was lifeless. As a carriage passing slowly in the middle of a plain desert, where no soul dared to reside, like an ant that limped in the infernal circle of death – _that_ was life after the war. While fire was flooding the devastated fields of hell, life advanced, slowly, silently, as silently as possible so as to not awaken the demons behind one's back. One step, before another.

Yet, eyes in the dark were watching over this ant. Like a spirit, atone and passive, they scrutinized the scene from above.

Those cold grey eyes, they did not care what lay at the end of the path he walked. They only knew that before them stretched the same scene from that dream. The same dream that haunted Draco over and over again, where he walked alone along a narrow, dusty path. Aimless, as a phantom, he went on, for he knew the journey had no end, for Death only was his harbor.

Then, he would wake up. Lonely within, when he dreamt and when he woke up. Always, he was living in a nightmare of his own creation.

Those eyes, they were distant, seemingly set upon the horizon, or on some faraway star. In truth, they stared at something only they could see.

Those eyes – from a once-upon-a-time boy – they wanted something.

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 ** _There is only power…and those too weak to seek it._**

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They were set to become the next Dark Lord.

 **φ**

 **Author's note** : **This is the first chapter of my very first fanfiction. I hope you've enjoyed it. Reviews will be greatly appreciated. I have to say that I've read many great stories here and never had I thought that a day would come when** ** _I'd write one as well_** **. Really, the works of the many devoted authors on this website have inspired me so. Thank you, all.**


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